


The Spark that caused a Storm

by Journeys_of_an_Egghead



Series: What Pride has Wrought [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, POV Solas, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Journeys_of_an_Egghead/pseuds/Journeys_of_an_Egghead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is running the risk of ruining everything. Again.<br/>(One shots of some events leading up to the beginning of DA Inquisition from Solas POV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Blast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas plan to unlock the Orb misfires. Literally.

It kept replaying in his head.  
Over and over again he witnessed the Blast that he had thought would finally put an end to this.  
Return his powers to him - Enable him to restore what was lost.  
But instead he remained but a weak imitation of himself, a fragment of what he once was. Just like everything else in this tranquil world he had created in his foolish recklessness. And now, even it could come to an end and again, he was the one to blame. It was never supposed to happen like this. He had thought this through, carefully set the wheels in motion, planned and always kept a watchful eye. Dealt with betrayal accordingly, however painful it had been. All that had been left was for Corypheus to die in the blast, unlocking the power of the orb. He thought it impossible he survived, but something had clearly gone wrong. Something he did not accord for. Another fatal mistake, another regret to tear him apart, another world ruined along with seemingly all hope of retribution. Would he never learn? Had he now unintentionally set the events in motion that would cause the end of literally everything?  
Solas had thought that he had felt all loss and remorse had to offer. But however deep they had cut him before, torn, eaten away at him, haunted his mind, it couldn’t compare to what he felt now. The devastation, the complete and utter despair of defeat.  
It could all have been over.  
He could be physically in the Fade at this very moment, rebuilding what he had caused to fall while this land burned in the raw chaos. But instead he now ran the risk of burning with it, trapped and doomed with the rest of them, restricted by their laws and silly superstitions. Unable to even search for the orb, if it even still remained functional.  
No.  
He could not afford to think like that. This was not over. He would not believe it destroyed until he saw the shattered remains with his own eyes. Solas could still achieve his goals through this plan, no need to resort to drastic alternatives. He had but to be patient and careful, play by the rules of the imitations for a while, however faulted they might be.  
But first, he needed to gather more information.  
  
****   
Solas had done many reckless and foolish things in the many years he had lived. But most of them had to be observed in painful hindsight for him to come to that realization. Not this time.  
Surrendering himself to the mercy of the Chantry, the justice of the humans - in this state - was an incredibly ill-advised risk. And yet, what choice did he have?  
Someone had survived the Blast. It had started as a whisper, a rumor, but the murmurs of the villagers had persisted and grown in detail. The survivor was supposedly a Dalish elf, of all people, who had attended the conclave for reasons not yet known and was being kept at Haven, a nearby village. And while curious, he would not have risked a visit were it not for one detail. The claims that she had walked out of the Fade, left hand engulfed in blazing, green light.  
Could a part of the orbs power, his power, somehow be trapped inside her? Could she possibly bare the anchor? The irony of it seemed almost whimsical.  
A Dalish, who doubtlessly clung to misinterpreted, meaningless fragments of elvhen history, might have acquired a part of his magic. The magic of a true Elvhen. Something she, should she survive, doubtlessly wouldn’t even recognize. Couldn’t even recognize, despite it being right in front of her. They were so proud of their heritage, so proud of their history – and yet, they knew nothing about either. Of all the marvelous wonders, of all the knowledge that they could have preserved – they had chosen to still worship the Evanuris, to keep the atrocious ritual of branding themselves with vallaslin.  
But he couldn’t afford to ignore this opportunity. He had lost the privilege of pride.  
She could hold the key to closing the Breach.  
She could hold the key to his salvation.


	2. The Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is finally able to inspect the anchor.

When he entered the cell, he just glanced at the elven woman lying on the stone floor, barely noting anything more than her dark skin and crimson hair. She was but a vessel, a mortal caught up in forces she could not possibly understand and though she had his sympathies, he still thought her but a shell, broken, incomplete, and tranquil. His focus lay on the mark on her left hand, and the power that it contained.  
_His_ power. Power he should never have let out of his sight.  
Solas could feel the glares of the soldiers on him as he lowered himself to kneel down beside her, gently pulling her hand into his. It was so soft and cold, long refined fingers with short worn nails hung loosely, lifelessly, as he turned her hand gently to study her palm. The anchor flared at his touch, hissing and buzzing, bathing the room in blinding green light. He heard the distinct clink of metal, as the soldiers unsheathed their swords.  
_Ignorant fools._  
He raised one hand to wave them back and the light expelled, the hissing faded.  
“It was nothing but a harmless reaction. This is to be expected, there is no cause for alarm.”  
“Says you! How do we know you won’t blow us all up?” One of the soldiers bellowed. He was a rather tall, bulky man.  
Solas sighed.  
“Do you have deep knowledge of the Fade and the magic that is tied to it?“  
He paused, eyes fixed on the man, making time for a hypothetical answer.  
“Because I do and that is how I know that I won’t, ‘blow us all up’.” He concluded, mocking the soldiers’ speech.  
They were wearing on his patience.  
“You might do it on purpose.” the man pressed on, still clutching his weapon.  
_Seriously?_  
“Now why would I do such a thing?”  
“To prove some point? To weaken the Chantry? Why did she blow up the conclave?” the soldier asked, gesturing to the elven woman.  
Solas eyes darted to the man, glaring viciously. Their ignorance was infuriating. He would not see the anchor stabilized only for them to execute its host.  
“You do not know what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes any more then I.”  
_Less, actually_ , he thought grimly.  
“She has not been found guilty of any crime yet, but this mark might be able to close the giant Breach in the sky that threatens to tear this world apart, so I suggest you let me work in peace and worry more about my results than hypothetical explosions that are unable to occur from it.”  
He snapped and turned his attention back to the anchor.  
It was quiet after that, safe for the buzzing of the anchor and the occasional disdainful grunts and curses of the soldiers. He had theorized that the power was tied to her now and that he would have no means of reclaiming it. That had been rather apparent from the first time he had laid his hands on the mark, and every spell he had tried only cemented that belief further. It was an expected complication, not worthy of discouragement. However, it was frustrating to see that he was ostensibly unable to assert any form of control over the anchor. It did not seem to respond any of his spells and with the soldiers surrounding him he was limited in his forms of magic.  
Inevitably he came to the conclusion that all he could hope for was to keep her alive and wait for her to eventually wake up, assisting her recovery with healing spells and minor wards.  
He pressed his fingers slightly into her left hand which was no longer cold, having been warmed by the flow of magic and simple contact of skin. Casting his spell, warm and soothing, his gaze absentmindedly drifted to her face and for the first time, he was actually looking at her. Her crimson hair was shaved short on one side, falling loosely in light waves over her right shoulder. Her smooth hazel colored skin was marred and marked by her vallaslin, green branches ranking from her nose upwards, stretching across her forehead in a misguided attempt to honor Mythal.  
She was beautiful, that was apparent, but it meant nothing to him.She had no true spirit, no true thoughts, she was not truly alive.  
He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. After all, was he not to blame for it all? His actions had caused them to be sundered from the Fade, made them nothing more than weak, simpleminded imitations that either covered in human cities or worshipped slavers as their gods. They were mortal because of him, their lives so short, the time in which they could acquire knowledge so incredibly limited due to the fact that their bodies now had an expiration date. Every elven death that had occurred simply by the passage of time was on him. It was his fault. All of it. The anchor hissed loudly as the spell broke, bathing the room in green.  
_Fenedhis lasa_  
He averted his gaze from the woman's face.  
The soldiers curses and threats filled the room for a while, the echoes lingering even after the light had expelled. How could he have made such a careless mistake?  
Had he truly allowed his mind to be clouded by guilt, by pitying them? _How pathetic._  
Had he not tried in earnest to help, to offer his knowledge only to be mocked, declared a fool and a madman? His empathy for these people was gravely misplaced.  
After all, they were not truly people. He took a deep breath and started the spell again, focusing on nothing but the pulsing flow of magic and the cold, grey wall of stone.


	3. Another threat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter does contain some violence.

Solas had followed the hooded figures for a while.  
They had first caught his attention this afternoon, as he had left the chantry to take a swift walk in the brisk mountain air, hoping to focus his mind. The prisoners’ condition did not seem to improve, if anything it was worsening - and he was beginning to question if she would ever wake up. The woman was now prone to bouts of thrashing, mumbling about glimpses of things far beyond her understanding. The alchemist, Adan - who had grudgingly made it clear, multiple times, that he was not a healer – was utterly out of his depth. Her condition was not something that could be aided by simple elfroot extract. Not that anything else seemed to bear results.  
Solas still remained unable to assert any control over the mark, and the Fade seemed to offer no insight. He had tried to seek advice from spirits, searched for wisdom, but those he might have consulted had all been driven away by the Breach. The ones who remained were only seeking confrontations, disputes - and he already had an abundance of those.  
Cassandra had been suspicious from the beginning, eager to thrust all sorts of accusations and threats at him. But she steadily grew more agitated and irritable by the minute, and today, her anger had peaked in a rather detailed threat of his execution, should he fail to produce the expected results in time. It was frustrating, frightening. Every moment he remained longer was a threat to his safety, his life. Dying was not something he could afford to do. Not yet. He would not leave Thedas in this state. His safety was a priority.  
And yet, should he choose to leave, he would abandon the best plan he had, the best chance of achieving his goals. Chance being the key word, because it remained just that, a possibility.  
Both paths were a gamble and they raged a war in his mind.

But despite his inner conflicts partially blinding him to his surroundings, he had still noticed them.  
A group, huddled together, men and women, all dressed in simple cloaks that hid any distinguishing features.  
He had felt their stares on him, glares that burrowed themselves deep into the back of his neck as he passed by. Neither their clothing nor their scowls were usually worthy of note. Haven had a frosty climate and so the majority of people shrouded themselves in cloaks, if their faith didn’t dictate otherwise, and apprehensive stares now practically followed his every move. Being a mage alone seemed a crime worthy of lockup in this world, superstition and fear preventing actual thought and true understanding - and appearing to be one of the elves of this age meant most would likely think him either a savage or a servant.  
Just another reminder of how simple these creatures truly were.  
So simple that they would let truth fall prey to convenience, to fear, to the simple desire of wanting someone, anyone to heave their collective blame upon. Solas had seen something in that group, sensed something that made him uneasy and it had only intensified the longer he observed them.  
It seemed as if he could practically feel the heat that was burning in their core, a deep hatred that went far beyond mere anger or resentment. It made his skin crawl - he knew it all too well. Such intense feelings could not be dampened the way most dealt with such emotions.  
Simply hurling insults, passively complaining would only serve to fuel their rage and they would find the soldiers promises of retribution insufficient. Which meant that sooner or later, they would act themselves. They would fight for what they believed to be right. They didn’t want justice, they only hungered for vengeance.

So when the sun had set, he was once again in the cold, damp cell, watching, waiting for his suspicions to be confirmed. Solas had decided that it would be wiser to not share his wariness with anybody, for he considered most of the imitations incapable of even basic common sense and was thus concerned about how they would interpret his warning, especially should his fears turn out to be unfounded.

So he had taken on the appearance of studying the anchor intently, insisting each time he was to be dismissed that he was close to a breakthrough. It was a lie, of course, but one that would buy him some time. And after a while, only one guard remained, who, much like Cassandra, grew increasingly impatient with each passing moment. But after Solas subtly suggested that his presence could be favorable and might partly relieve the soldier of his tedious duty, his bulgy eyes had lit up with as close to an epiphany as the man would ever get - and he was now slouching in one corner, head resting against the wall of stone, smiling contently as he walked the Fade in blissful sleep.  
Solas released the woman’s hand. There was no need anymore. It was useless. His efforts were pointless. He could not help her in this way.  
And so he simply sat, cross legged, facing the cell door as he waited, listening intently for anything that might indicate danger.  
But the only sounds apart from the usual noises time gifted an old building were the occasional pained, delirious screams from the elf and the soldiers thunderous snoring.

And as time moved on, he was beginning to wonder why he even bothered, what use there was to his efforts.  
Could he even save this woman? Would they even let her live? Did it even matter? What if the Anchor wouldn’t be able to seal Rifts, let alone the Breach, now that it was tied to a mortal?  
He avoided looking at the feeble form that spilled on the cold floor. He did not want to see her face, somehow still so beautiful and bright, despite the grime that clung to her, despite that helpless expression etched into her features as she clung to life, the twisted grief and pain that sometimes shook her entire body, the emerald green blood writing that marked her as Mythals’ … 

A thundering, rattling sound interrupted his thoughts, echoing through the halls.  
Solas lost no time. He moved swiftly, waking the Soldier with an abrupt gesture.  
“Guard her.”  
The man looked at him in sleepy bewilderment, but had no time to protest, or even process the insult of being given orders by an apostate – Solas had already left the cell.  
He had no staff, for it made most uneasy to see him carry it inside the Chantry.  
But it didn't matter. They could keep his stick if it eased their minds. He didn't need it.  
His body prickled with the thrill of magic as he summoned mana.

To most, the walls would loom in the faint light of the flickering braziers, who dangled from the ceiling, swinging on chains as if prisoners themselves.  
Humans would find the passages swallowed up in darkness, unable to distinguish the desired path from a dead end.  
But Solas wasn’t a human.  
Where they would only be able make out faint shapes, outlines and shadows sent dancing by the swinging light, he saw it all with utmost clarity. The paths and were they lead, the other cells and the beds, chairs and books they contained.

So he nimbly found his way through the winding passage, and was just about to ascend the stairs that lead to the Chantry’s main hall, when his heart contracted.  
A figure, shrouded in a black coat, presumably a woman from the way she carried herself, blocked his path. She almost ran into him, recoiled in surprise and for a moment their eyes met. He could see her face twist, her pale green eyes flicker with hatred as recognition swept over her features.  
Solas lost no time.  
One moment she hissed as she raised her silverite daggers – the next she was a glistening statue, encrusted it ice.  
“Mage!” a voice screamed from whence she came, tremoring with rage and loss. Solas flinched as something swooped past him, scraping the fabric on his shoulder, hitting the floor with a shattering clank.  
A man was now rapidly approaching him, hood pulled back, black hair plastering his face, dark eyes gleaming with madness as he ran. Solas could see others following close behind.  
Bring it on.  
He felt the power dancing on his fingertips as he summoned shards of ice, hurling them towards his opponents.  
He hit two in the shoulder, one in the knee and the first went down, gasping for air like a fish, grasping at his heart, red oozing out of him like a tapped barrel of wine.  
It didn’t deter them. More followed, simply bypassing the bodies of their two fallen comrades.  
Solas started to run back, putting some distance between them as he breathed, strengthening himself for his next attack.  
“You can’t beat us all mage! Give it up! Surrender to justice!” he heard them scream behind him.  
Fools.  
Solas could defeat them all, he only needed the time to harness more mana…  
He skidded to an abrupt halt. The path before him was blocked.  
There stood the guard, swaying slightly, still dazed by sleep but sword drawn.  
He had left his post. Of course.  
The man’s bulky eyes darted around in the darkness for a moment before settling on Solas hands.  
“Drop your… magic … now!” he demanded.  
Idiot.  
Before Solas could explain, he saw the guards’ attention shift as he spotted the intruders and readied himself to charge. But there were too many. He wouldn’t survive.  
“Step back!” Solas screamed to the guard and turned on his heel.  
He had to act now. Frozen trespassers were hard enough to explain, if his magic were to kill a guard ...  
Solas brought up his palms and a churning ball of fire arose, fusing over them, crackling with heat.  
He released it, and it rapidly grew in fever and size as it swooped toward its targets. Voices filled the pathway, largely drowned out by the swoosh of his spell. Some cursed. Some ran. Everyone screamed. A knife cut through the steamy air, bouncing of the wall and landing at Solas feet in a desperate last attempt to at least take his life. It was all pointless, they would all die. The air became tainted with the smell of acrid charcoal as they burned, shining, blazing, screeching until death took them. 

“By the maker!” he heard the guard behind him say.  
He was a small, shaking heap, arms shielding his face from the heat.  
Slowly, he lowered his hands.  
His eyes were wide in shock.  
“You… you…” The man started, pointing a shaky sword at Solas.  
“just saved your life.” Solas finished for him.  
The man gave a hollow laugh.  
Not that he expected any gratitude. He knew better than to expect anything from the imitations.  
Solas just hoped the man would not add to his already abundant pile of complications.  
“They were coming for the prisoner. I simply protected...”  
“There was nothing simple about what you did!” the man’s voice was now nearly a scream.  
“Now I finally see that all mages are already abominations!” the guard spat.  
Solas turned to face him. He was getting tired of it all.  
“Is that what you see? You have killed men before, have you not?”  
“Not like this! Not like…”  
“Ah.”  
Solas said simply, picking up the blade that had been thrown at his feet. He turned it over in his hands, making the sharp edge glisten in the flickering light.  
“The ability to set people aflame is hardly exclusive to mages. If you have fought in a war, you must have seen it before. Oil, burning arrows, the stake, through the ages, men have found countless ways of inducing suffering.  
Why would a blade be any better, any preferable? Do you think all those who have access to a knife murderers, regardless of if they use it to cut butter or a man’s throat?” he asked, but the man didn’t seem to hear him. His face had grown even paler and his eyes darted around as in a desperate search for something that wasn’t there.  
“I hope she never wakes up… after what she did… the power she must possess… Perhaps they should have succeeded…”  
Enough.  
Solas Fade-stepped, letting the waves carry him forward, closing the distance between them in a blur.  
He disarmed the startled man faster than he could react and seizing the hem of his armor, he slammed him into the wall.  
“You would do better not to wish for that.” He spat. “For the key to keeping this world, everything you have ever know, everything in existence from being torn apart, obliterated, might lie in her hand. Surely even you are not foolish enough to ignore that.”  
The guards’ eyes went cold in fear.  
“Pray, hope that she lives - for as useless as it might be, I believe that is all that we can do. Nothing.”  
He spoke the words more to himself than to the soldier.  
For there was no use talking to the man anymore. He could not respond.  
Solas released his grip and the soldier slumped on the wall and slid down like a snail, leaving a bloody trail.  
Solas let the knife clatter to the ground.  
An echo found its way through the halls - the desperate pleas of a terrified woman.  
The prisoner was screaming again.


	4. Shiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas prepares himself to flee, but then …

Admittedly, at first he had been interested to see a Dwarf of this age, to observe firsthand how they had been affected by the sundering.  
But his curiosity had quickly faded once he had realized how insufferably annoying Varric was. His irritation was in no small part due to the nickname he had apparently chosen for the elf. _Chuckles._  
Undoubtedly a jab at his less than cheerful demeanor. Evidently, it was not only expected of him to quickly save a mortal from being torn apart by forces unknown to this disfigured world, but to also crack jokes and smile about his predicament. The threat of execution and the possibility of the hole in the sky slowly swallowing everything in existence seemed humorous indeed. Admittedly though, that was not the main reason why the name tore at his nerves. It was what it reminded him of each time he heard it: The Dalish foolish legends, 'Fen’Harel', once a title he had worn with pride, now nothing more than the name of the Dalish' ‘god of tricksters’ , a traitor, a villain, who had laughed, chuckled, in mad delight as the elves lost everything.  
“Watch out!”  
An arrow swooped past him, boring itself through the eye of a demon. He hadn’t realized how close it had gotten.  
Solas still had to adjust to the notion that such creatures now posed a legitimate threat to him. Falling back, he quickly cast a barrier as it lunged at him with a sickening screech.  
Sharp talons scratched at the magical shield, he could feel them tearing at the wall of force cloaking him, feel it ebb away as he managed to engulf the demon in ice.  
There were so many. For each creature they slew, the rift seemed to pull another spirit through. But as discouraging as it was, it had the possibility of a good distraction. Once he had assisted Varric enough not to leave the man in mortal danger, he would flee, simply slip away, search for another way to close the Breach. He had done all he could here.  
The icy prison shattered, the demon nothing more than broken pieces that clattered as they hit the ground.  
_Ar lasa mala revas._  
As before, another spirit quickly took its place, twisted by the shock of this world into a demon of hunger. He adjusted his stance, angling his staff back in order to pull further from the Fade, as he felt something shift. There was a sudden charge, a power seeking release as the air took on a metallic smell. Then, the sky came ablaze.  
Bolts of lightning crackled through the air, striking demons, bouncing from one target to the next, paralyzing their victims with deadly precision.  
Another mage? Solas could not afford to steal a look, having two demons who already recovered from the shock approach him rapidly.  
He threw them back with shards of ice and summoned another barrier before attacking them again.  
A loud scream and the clinks of rattling armor blared behind him, announcing the warrior before he spotted her rushing past him, slashing vigorously at the demons as the shining metal dripped with flowing spots of red.  
_Cassandra._  
Could that mean?  
Lightning struck again and this time, he allowed himself a swift turn. He caught a glimpse of an elven woman with crimson hair, the branching markings on her face twisted in concentration, left hand shining like a beacon. _She’s awake!_  
It had only been a glance, an image formed in a blur, but it bore itself into his mind, changing everything.  
He fought more ferociously, a firm resolution sunk into his posture and movement, his spells became forceful, his mind focused.  
Because now, after all his failures, after all the insufferable helplessness and frustration, there was hope.

(Ar lasa mala revas. – You are free.)


	5. Shiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas learns the Dalish woman's name.

“So shiny, I don’t think you’ve properly introduced yourself yet. You know, apart from the whole prisoner thing.”  
Varric said, tucking on his gauntlets as they descended the snowy steps into the valley.  
“Shiny?” She asked amused.  
_The dwarfs’ originality was truly astounding,_ Solas thought dryly.  
“Too on the nose?" Varric asked, "It’s a work in progress. I don’t exactly have a lot to go on yet, so it was either shiny or Dalish.“  
_And his ideas just kept improving. Was there no end to his creativity?_  
She smirked.  
“Dalish huh? How did you figure that out? Wait don’t tell me…” she gave a small, exaggerated gasp and widened her eyes in mockery,  
“the markings gave me away, didn’t they? It’s always the markings.”  
“The vallaslin is rather potent, yes.” Solas remarked.  
It had been an automatic comment, spoken impulsively, without thought, his voice harder than he had intended.  
She tilted her head and glanced back at him.  
“You’re familiar with the term?” she asked in a soft tone and seemed genuinely surprised.  
_Familiar with more than just the term,_ he thought bitterly.  
“Yes, I have traveled many roads in my time and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”  
He had wanted to make a simple, impassive statement, but his mind was drunk on the whirl of emotions.  
And so his mask had slipped, and his disdain made clear.  
To his surprise, he saw her lips curl into a gentle smile.  
“Your people. You speak it as if it’s an insult. We are both of the same people, Solas.”  
He felt his stomach tense.  
_No, we are not. You are so far from what you were meant to be and do not even recognize it, blind in your ignorance and stubborn misconceptions._  
“The Dalish I met felt… differently on the subject.” He deflected, averting his gaze.  
It was a mild way of phrasing it.  
“Then the Dalish you met were idiots.”  
He looked at her, bewildered. He hadn’t expected such an opinion from a Dalish.  
She gave a short laugh, warm and hearty, soft dimples forming on her cheeks.  
“Don’t give me that look, I’m not above criticizing my people. Ga’urb em thai ra banafelas.”  
“A truth not many would acknowledge.” He remarked and gave her a genuine smile.  
She was not what he had expected. Solas had not given her personality much thought in the time he had watched over her, assuming that her believes would naturally correlate to his impressions of the Dalish he had had the displeasure of meeting. The fact that she would even entertain the notion that some of her people were fools seemed remarkable to him.  
“Well doesn’t this just warm the heart? Glad to see two elves play nice for once.”  
Varric said with a pleased huff.  
She narrowed her eyes, the markings twisting as she arched her brows.  
“We do have our moments. Most humans on the other hand…”  
“Indeed.” Solas concurred.  
“Can’t argue with that.” Varric added and their eyes darted collectively to Cassandra, who was walking at a steady pace ahead of them,  
and made no notion of acknowledging their jab.  
The dwarf gave a stifled laugh.  
“What’s wrong seeker? No snarky comment? No objections? Not even a disgusted snort?”  
“I see no point in arguing with the prisoner.” She said blandly, without slowing down or giving them as much as a glance.  
Solas could sense a subtle charge radiating from the Dalish as she tightened the grip on her staff.  
It was too weak for the dwarf or the seeker to notice, an emotional reaction rather than a deliberate act.  
“I’m well aware that I’m your prisoner, you don’t have to constantly remind me.” She snapped, her eyes narrowing,  
“I have a name, Cassandra. Use it.”  
Varric let out a small sigh.  
“Shiny, not to defend the seeker, but I don’t think you’ve actually told us your name yet.  
I mean maybe Cassandra does know, seeing as she did interrogate you, but I’ve been in your shoes and introductions aren’t exactly her strong suit.”  
It was true, none of them had yet asked of her name, more pressing concerns having swayed the short conversation in a different direction.  
She relaxed the grip on her staff, the charge fading.  
“Fenedhis, I really haven’t properly introduced myself have I?”  
She bit her lip, noticeably embarrassed.  
“Now, now, it’s hardly your fault. We were all a bit preoccupied with that weird glowing thing on your hand.” Varric remarked.  
“Hmm.” She hummed, giving the anchor another quick glance before turning to the dwarf.  
“I’m Elgara.”  
“Your name is Elgara? Sun? Considering current events, your name fits you well.”  
Solas observed.  
“Yes, the creators do seem to have a rather cruel sense of humor.” You have no idea.  
She chuckled and added “Reminds me of me.”  
“Is that so?” Solas said, one corner of his lip tugging into a smile.  
She smirked, arching her brow playfully as she peered at him from under thick, lush lashes.  
It was strange to see her awake, so vibrant and full of life, a beautiful imitation of an Elvhen.  
A small spark that he had long thought lost ran through him - alluring and alarming at the same time. He supposed it was only natural.  
After all, his emotions were understandably heightened.  
“Well, now that I know that you’re literally called 'sun' , I’ll just have to stick to shiny, won’t I?  
I’m so pleased.”  
Varric commented and they continued their journey through the thick, glistening snow.

*Ga’urb em thai ra banafelas. (Every bush has rotten berries./ lit. All plants have fruit that decays. - Credit to geeky-jez :)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope somebody sees this and enjoys ^^  
> And just an ENOURMOUS thank you to superb-mediocrity who honestly is just too awesome for words. <3  
> I really appreciate constructive criticism and please feel free to point out any grammatical/spelling errors you might have spotted. : )


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